The Ispace Wars
by Huinesoron
Summary: Sequel to OFUDisc. The Interdimensional Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Elves is back with a vengeance. Their goal is to protect the elves of the multiverse - all the elves - and they don't care who gets in their way. It looks like everyone is in for a rough time...
1. Prologue: OFUU

The Administrator closed his laptop with a click and turned to face his last three students. "That's everyone else home," he announced. "PPCers to HQ, everyone else to the Real World. All vampires successfully de-vamped, everyone turned back to human – even Traveler is no longer a box. Everyone except you three." He grimaced and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I can't say I'm happy about this."

"I never imagined you would be," Iplis said softly. "But I'm not going back."

"And I'm not leaving if _she's_ still here," Cazzie added, glowering at the vampire. "You can't trust her."

"And I can trust you? You're a fangirl too," the Administrator pointed out. He raised a hand at Cazzie's protest. "All right. I've allowed you to stay – both of you – because you were closest to Liliac and our Death of Fangirls." He glanced at the third fangirl. "You, on the other hand, are here for the effect you have on Ispace. But all of you are only staying because you could be useful – not because I like you."

"Being liked went out of the window for me last night," Iplis observed. "I'll help you."

"Yes, you will." The Administrator shook his head. "So here we are. I suppose you have questions."

"A few, yes," Cazzie admitted, glancing at her companions. "So Penny was right? We _are_ in a story?"

"Well, yes and no," the Administrator replied. "Yes, you were written in, which is why things got a bit confusing. Sorry about that, by the way."

Cazzie shrugged. "It didn't affect me."

"Oh, yes, the OFUM misfile... well. You were all written in, yes, but what you _did_ wasn't written. That was all you. But... that's why the distances were messed up – why you never saw the other classes – why you were all girls, actually."

"I can't say I objected to that," Iplis murmured, smiling faintly. Cazzie glared at her again, and she fell silent.

"I guess you've answered my second question already," Cazzie went on as if Iplis had never spoken, "which was if we were being mind-controlled. So… Liliac. She seemed to know you."

The Administrator sighed. "Ispace... they didn't used to be like this, you know. They were founded by Glorfindel – you know, the elf? – and used to spend their time keeping fangirls away from Tolkien elves. This whole 'everything called an elf must be protected from everything else'... I don't know where that came from."

"And you were a member?" Iplis asked. Cazzie glowered at her, and then shrugged slightly.

"All right, I admit it, I was about to ask the same thing..."

The Administrator laughed aloud. "Stars, no! I was a sort of vigilante. At the time, you see, Legolas was in the business of throwing pancakes at people, and-"

"Wait, wait." Cazzie shook her head. "Pancakes? Like... milk and flour in a frying pan?"

"That's the one," the Administrator confirmed. "It's a long story. But he had this group of fangirls who used to help him out, bake his pancakes, that sort of thing."

Iplis laughed, and even Cazzie couldn't keep from grinning. "Sorry – is that meant to be innuendo?"

"Surprisingly, no." The Administrator smirked. "Not that they would have minded… anyway, I helped _them_ out on occasion, and a handful of them joined Ispace… I was at the Battle of Erebor, when the PPC and Ispace stood together against the fangirl onslaught. Times have changed." He shook his head slowly. "So yes. Liliac knows me as Huinesoron. I was hoping she wouldn't recognise me as 'the Administrator', but no such luck."

"Okay, that's... kind of a lot to take on board," Cazzie admitted. "One more question – what do we do now?"

"Now that you've successfully forced your continued presence on me for the duration, you mean?" The Administrator shook his head. "We organise. Like I said, I know Liliac – she's not going to stop at closing OFUDisc."

Cazzie's eyes widened. "OFUM!"

"And HFA, and... everyone," the Administrator agreed.

Cazzie shook her head slowly. "I would say I was confident Miss Cam could hold her own, especially with the mini-Balrogs on hand… but I'd be lying. I've seen what Liliac's got to work with."

"And if the Headmistress can't stand up to Ispace, who can?" the Administrator said. Cazzie gave him an odd look, but said nothing.

"So we warn them," Iplis said firmly. "We combine forces so _nothing_ can get through – get ourselves time to think."

"We've already made some steps in that direction," the Administrator admitted. "It's sort of a secret, because we're still in the early stages, but we've started an Official Fanfiction University of OFUs. My peers – the Course Coordinators – are the staff, so it's definitely opened communication links between the Fanfiction Universities."

"And Miss Cam's the Head," Cazzie nodded. "That makes sense, given, you know, precedent. When you said 'Headmistress' I thought you meant of _OFUDisc_, which was weird, because that should be-"

"Let's not get into that," the Administrator said hastily. "It's a bit... well. The important thing is that we need to contact the rest of OFU-Squared as soon as possible."

"And then what?" Iplis demanded. "You've seen their wormholes – they can strike _anywhere_. Even with help, how long can we defend against that?"

Cazzie looked at her curiously. "You're scared?"

"No, I-" Iplis paused and sighed. "Yes. Terrified. Shouldn't I be?"

"Maybe," Cazzie admitted. "And it's a good question – what do we do when we've got the defences up?"

"We take the fight to them," the Administrator declared. "I know where to find Ispace Mountain. Once we've got a big enough army – of minis and canons – we go and knock on Liliac's front door!"

Silence. Then the third student raised her hand.

"Um, question," Lindyellwen said uncertainly. "Does this mean I don't get to see Verence again?"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All references to canons belong to their respective creators. The OFU concept was created by Miss Cam; all OFUs are the property of their respective authors. Cazzie, Iplis, and Lindyellwen are based on applications to OFUDisc. OFUDisc and Ispace are my own creations. All details of the plot are my own.

**Author's Note:** So here we are again. It's always such a pleasure! Ahem. Welcome to _The Ispace Wars_. This story is a sequel to _The Official Fanfiction University of Discworld_, which can be found on my profile and should probably be read first (though a summary is attached below). It also constitutes a crossover/tie-in with the _Protectors of the Plot Continuum_ shared universe; a brief description of the PPC, and links for more information, can be found on the OFUDisc Files blog, linked from my profile. _The Ispace Wars_ will take place across the multiverse, but fairly large chunks of it will be in Middle-earth - hence its being placed in the _Lord of the Rings_ category.

So here we go. Hold tight - it's going to be quite a ride!

**OFUDisc:** The Official Fanfiction University of Discworld was founded twice, eight years apart. At its second founding, the students from the first were written in by the Administrator - but they were written in as they had been nearly a decade before. As the girls attempted to resolve their confusion over exactly how old they were, they faced off against their own vampiric co-students - including one Iplis, who successfully seduced Agent Penny of the PPC - and against Ispace, the Interdimensional Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Elves.

Ispace had a goal: to stop people abusing fictional elves at all costs. Whether those elves were canon characters, OFU students, or Mary-Sues, didn't matter - and ultimately, Ispace launched a full-on attack on OFUDisc. They were driven off, but took one of the students with them - Phoebe, the Death of Fangirls. Phoebe had been friends with Liliac, the Ispace infiltrator, and with Cazzie - but especially with Penny, who now returned to the PPC...


	2. Prologue: PPC

Penny glared across the desk at the gigantic yellow sunflower in his pinstriped suit. "You're not listening to me, sir," she grated. "Ispace is a threat to-"

_To a small group of fangirls, yes, you've stated this several times,_ the Sunflower Official, Head of the PPC's Department of Mary-Sues, cut her off. _Now, Agent- I beg your pardon, _Assassin_ Smith, allow me to point out some facts you may not be aware of._

_The PPC is not, in fact, some sort of multiverse police force. Our remit is badfic – no more, and certainly no less. Are you claiming that an Official Fanfiction University is badfic? Or this Ispace?_

"No," Penny ground out, "but they-"

_I mean, can you imagine how Jurisfiction would react? Or the Fairytale Police Department? The canonical Trans-Dimensional Organisations are already half-convinced we're a bunch of vigilantes out to poach their jobs._

"But we take down the Mary-Sue Factories!" Penny exclaimed, almost desperate now. "Even when they're not attacking us!"

_They started it,_ the SO noted. _Other than invading OFUDisc – an organisation apparently perfectly capable of defending itself – what have Ispace done? Nothing._

"Someone must have reported the rumours to you," Penny disagreed. "Several agent teams have been accosted by strangers who forced them away from their targets-"

_Goodness, Mary-Sue sympathisers trying to stop the PPC? You'd think there was some sort of League of Mary-Sue Factories out there or something._ The Sunflower Official rustled his petals and turned his bloom towards Penny. _No. If and when you find evidence – _evidence_, mark you, not vague accusations, theories and hyperbole – that Ispace are aiding Mary-Sues or otherwise causing damage to the Plot Continuum on anything like the scale of the League – root and branch, if you can prove they're causing _any_ harm to the Plot Continuum – then you may be authorised to go after them. Until that time, Assassin, please leave. I have a Board meeting soon – in a day or so._

Penny fumed as she marched down the corridor to her not-a-Response-Centre-you're-a-consultant-not-an-agent. She threw the door open, stalked inside, reached back to slam it closed – and paused. Her brow furrowed, and she drummed her fingers on the grey-painted wood.

Finally, a smile crept across her face. "Proof, huh?" she murmured. "I think I know just who to talk to…"

* * *

"But you still _know_ people, right?"

Estelnar shook her head and took a sip of her drink, then grimaced. "Ugh. Next time, we meet at Rudi's." She put the glass down on the cafeteria table. "The fact is, we didn't really talk to many people when we made the Multiverse Monitor. It… wasn't that sort of paper."

Penny scowled. "I should have known it was too easy," she muttered. "Well, thanks for your time – sorry about the drink-"

"You know," Estelnar cut in, "it might help if you told me what you actually want to know…"

Penny frowned. "But you just said – you don't publish your paper anymore, so you can't put a notice in…"

"But on the other hand," Estelnar said reasonably, "not telling me would be a crime against curiosity."

"… fair enough."

Estelnar stared at Penny for long moments after the latter finished her tale. "Is that all?"

"_All_?" Penny repeated. "They abducted my friend – attacked an OFU – tried to kill _me_, it's only that overpowered Administrator's reflexes that teleported us away in time-"

"Oh, yes, I'm not arguing _that_ isn't serious," Estelnar clarified. "But what you want to know – easy."

"I think you're exaggerating."

"That's because you don't spend enough time in the Cafeteria," Estelnar told her, standing up and looking around. "Let's see… ah, yes." She waved her hands over her head and raised her voice. "Kayleigh!"

A brown-haired woman practically leapt from her seat and scampered over. Penny could tell it was a scamper – mostly because the woman was chanting 'scamper-scamper-scamper' as she came.

"Hi there!" the woman called, jumping up onto a vacant chair and beaming down at Penny and Estelnar. "Speak my name and I doth come. And you only need to say it once – what a bargain, eh? Stroke." She suited action to words by running a hand down the back of the white cat in her arms.

"Hi," Estelnar said. "I, uh… okay, I'll bite."

"Oh, please don't!" Kayleigh exclaimed. "You'll scare Aunt Sam!"

"… not literally," Estelnar clarified. "But… okay, who let you have a cat?"

"She isn't a _cat_," Kayleigh protested, clutching the not-cat close. "She is a mini-Mogget who I have adopted from some very nice-slash-horrid-slash-indifferent people! Glower."

"Is there a point to any of this?" Penny asked. "Only I have to go and start knocking on doors…"

"No, you don't." Estelnar turned back to Kayleigh. "So, we hear a sinister organisation known as Ispace is out to destroy the PPC," she said conversationally. "Any truth in that?"

"Gasp!" Kayleigh gasped. "The _whole_ PPC? Not just a tiny little bit like the Department of Out-of-Character Hobbits?"

"All of it," Penny confirmed. "Why? Have you heard something?"

"Not yet!" Kayleigh admitted cheerfully. "But I needed to know what to ask. Ooh! I recognise him!" And she stepped off the chair and darted off into the crowd, still cradling Aunt Sam.

"Kayleigh is one of HQ's biggest conspiracy nuts," Estelnar explained to Penny's stare. "If anyone runs into these Ispace types and comes away with proof, she'll learn about it."

"And will she tell us?" Penny asked. "Or will she use the information to make HQ's largest flower arrangement?"

Estelnar considered this image. "Well, you know," she said at last, "there are some very information-rich flower arrangements out there…"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All references to canons belong to their respective creators. The PPC is the creation of Jay and Acacia. The various agents in this chapter are mine (now). The story and all errors in it are my own.

**Author's Note:** I told you the PPC was in it. ;) Since a few people have expressed confusion as to what's going on, a summary of _OFUDisc_ has been appended to the previous chapter.

**The PPC:** The Protectors of the Plot Continuum defend the Word Worlds from the scourge of bad fanfiction. From their trans-dimensional Headquarters, the giant sentient Flowers who lead them send out Assassins, Untanglers, Slashers, and all manner of agents.


	3. Prologue: Ispace

The door clicked closed as Liliac placed the tray of food on the small table. "And how are you today?" she asked conversationally.

Phoebe stared out of the window, but Liliac doubted she was even seeing the sweeping heights of the Misty Mountains, the tangled forest about their feet.

"Some of my operatives ran into agents of the PPC today," Liliac went on. "Apparently they'd both gone after the same elf-lusting Sue. And of course the Protectors attacked – what would you expect of people who call themselves Assassins?"

Nothing from Phoebe.

Liliac shrugged. "My girls drove them off and finished the Sue," she went on. "Shows the value of superior training – or, ha, any training. Of course, the Mary-Sue Academy has asked us not to kill them any more. They say they want to 'redeem' the Sues - and since we're not bloodthirsty maniacs, we'll actually do it, too."

"GO AWAY."

Liliac actually took three steps towards the door before she caught herself. "So you _can_ still talk," she observed. "Have you thought any further about my offer?"

Silence.

Liliac sighed. "Phoebe, you know me. I'm not the villain of this story. You're my friend, and I-"

"We are _not_ friends!" Phoebe snapped. "You tricked me – _lied_ to me – kidnapped me – killed all those people! You're a _monster_!"

"And you're not thinking straight," Liliac said coldly. "Killed them? Even if I could get past Huinesoron's defences – the Administrator's, I mean – they were _fangirls_. Have you forgotten who you are?"

"You still _tried_!" Phoebe snarled. "I want nothing to do with you."

"You don't have a choice," Liliac informed her. "Phoebe, we only want what's best for you."

"Then LET ME GO."

This time Liliac didn't even twitch. "No can do," she said. "You're in protective custody, like the other elves in the Mountain-"

"There are no other elves!" Phoebe snapped, her 'Token Elf' instincts coming to the fore.

"- and that means you _stay_ in the Mountain." Liliac rubbed her eyes and gestured at the leaflets on the table. "You _could_ be doing something productive, you know. We've got a lot of positions open – if you'd just take a look-"

"Why can't you just send me _home_?" Phoebe demanded. "Then I wouldn't _be_ an elf any more – problem solved."

"We don't know that," Liliac countered. "I'm still tangled up with my younger self, and I _am_ home. Why should you be any different?"

But Phoebe's gaze had returned to the window, to the breathtaking landscapes of Middle-earth. Liliac sighed, picked up the remains of the previous meal, and left her friend to her thoughts.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All references to canons belong to their respective creators. Phoebe and Liliac are based on concepts submitted to OFUDisc. Ispace is my own creation. All details of the plot are my own.

**Author's Note:** And we meet the hero of the piece. Or the villain. How you categorise Liliac depends on your point of view. It'll be interesting to see how she turns out. Now, since we're still in the Prologues, how about a recap on Ispace?

**Ispace: **The Interdimensional Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Elves has been around nearly a decade. Founded by Glorfindel to defend Middle-earth's elves from fangirls, its goals have shifted since Liliac (former Head of Assignments) took over. It now defends _all_ elves, anywhere in the Multiverse - and from _anything_. While there are exceptions and allowances made - the Nearest And Dearest Exception being one of the most used - and they are not large enough to be everywhere, Ispace Rule One is unambiguous and stern. If you harm an elf, they're coming to get you.

Recently, Ispace has begun an offensive against the other trans-dimensional organisations. Liliac personally infiltrated OFUDisc, befriending Phoebe, who - due to her application form being creatively misinterpreted - was a 'Token' (not 'Tolkien') Elf. Phoebe was also made Death of Fangirls - and when Liliac abducted her in the course of Ispace's assault on the OFU, she retained her powers. Of course, they only activate when a fangirl is killed...


	4. Prologue: The Ladies' Academy

"… can't believe they're _still_ using our name!"

"I, like, totally agree!" exclaimed Princess Silverlocks III. "I mean, are they even _half_ as stunning as me? They're _totally_ not Mary-Sues!"

Giritinuvielwen, headmistress of the Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment, frowned slightly. The problem with running a school for Mary-Sues, she reflected, is that if you do your job properly, they come out thicker than two short planks.

"They apparently think Mary-Sues are a bad thing," she pointed out to Silverlocks. "The so-called 'Redemptionist' Academy is dedicated to taking our Mary-Sues and _undoing_ our hard work."

"That's just silly!" Silverlocks declared, tossing her golden tresses (she usually dyed them before working a story, to make them match her name). "Why would anyone want to take someone as, like, smart, beautiful, funny and perfect as me and change me _back_ to how I used to be?"

Which was a mousy-haired fast food saleswoman named Stephanie, as Giritinuvielwen recalled. It was a good question, too – what was _wrong_ with making girls into images of perfection and letting them live out their fantasies?

"Apparently they think we're underdeveloped," a dry voice declared. "They call us 'one-dimensional' and 'paper cutouts'." Ravonia Darkmoor sniffed. "I find it rather offensive – but that's all part of the unbearable darkness that is life, I suppose."

"Well, what's _wrong_ with being 'one-dimensional'?" asked a voice which could have appeared in the dictionary under 'sultry'. (Did they put samples in dictionaries? Giritinuvielwen wasn't sure, but she'd seen something similar once…) Marchessa, perched on the edge of a table, crossed her legs in a way that would have caused men to swoon (but of course had no effect on her fellow Mary-Sues – that would be icky). "Provided you choose the right dimension, of course…"

"She's right," growled Celia Bloodgage (who had once, Giritinuvielwen recalled, been a mild-mannered chemical engineer called Jess), picking her teeth with a dagger. "Of course," she rumbled, "Marchessa picked the wrong dime… whatever."

"Well, _duh_," exclaimed Silverlocks. "Obvs the best dime-thingy is… er… whatever mine is!"

"I wrote a poem about being one-dimensional," Ravonia put in. "It unveiled the inexpressible anguish of my soil."

"I killed a Goth once," Celia grunted. "I think she was a Slytherin Hermione. Her blood was black."

"Mine is red," Ravonia declared. "Crimson as the rose petals as it drips from my wrists…"

Giritinuvielwen glanced at Ravonia's arms (or what could be seen of them between black lace gloves and black lace cuffs). They were completely unblemished – which was a testament to the skill of the Academy's medical team; Ravonia had suffered more plot-driven deaths than the rest of the faculty combined. It was fortunate for the Angst School that nothing in her own fic could really kill a Mary-Sue… and unfortunate for everyone that the same didn't apply to meddlers like the PPC and Ispace.

As if summoned by Giritinuvielwen's thought, Magiseer Karisana Villada appeared in a flash of crystal light. Giritinuvielwen straightened in alarm – Karisana's _hair_ was messy! She drew breath to deliver a well-deserved scolding – the Ladies' Academy had to maintain its standards – but then Karisana's words reached her ears:

"The PPC and Ispace are at war! I was monitoring Dazarie's graduation story when the PPC came in to kill her – but then Ispace showed up and _saved_ her! They said she was an elf before she was a Sue – and they drove the Protectors away!"

"Awesome!" squealed Silverlocks, bouncing in her chair. "Ispace are on our side now!"

"Well… no," Karisana admitted. "After they kicked the Assassins out, the Ispace team took a look at Dazarie's story – and then _they_ killed her."

"No!" Marchessa burst into crystal tears. "What wanton cruelty is this? All that sweet girl was doing was giving Drizzt a little love in his life! Well, him and Dinin… and Vhaeraun…"

"They said she was doing more harm than good," Karisana revealed. "What does that even _mean_?"

Giritinuvielwen got to her feet. "It means we have an unparalleled opportunity."

There was a pause as the Sues digested this. Then Silverlocks raised a hand. "Um, I don't think it does, actually…"

Giritinuvielwen ignored her. "We've never been able to take on Ispace: not after they corrupted the original Academy, not after they tempted the 'Redemptionists' away from us. But if they're now distracted, we can strike back!" All around her were impressively blank faces – they would have earned at least an A+ in Silverlocks' 'No-one Likes A Thinky-Sue' class. Giritinuvielwen forged on.

"If Ispace are now focussed on the PPC, we can slip a Mary-Sue into their mountain and take over their base. No-one can stand up to a fully-trained Mary-Sue _written into_ their world – especially if she's an elf…"

The silence was almost deafening as the Mary-Sues absorbed this. Finally, one of them got to her feet.

"I will take the fic," Princess Silverlocks III said tentatively, "though… I do not know the plot."

Celia Bloodgage stood, armour gliding silently over her tanned skin as she drew her sword. "Your task will go easier if others are out in the Word Worlds to draw their attention," she declared. "You have my sword."

Marchessa dropped seductively to the floor. "And my luscious curves!"

"And my magickck!" Magiseer Karisana Villada cried, raising her staff and letting a shower of silver stars fall down on the assembled Mary-Sues.

Ravonia Darkmoor sighed and got to her feet. "If it is the will of the faculty," she intoned, "then the Goths will see it done – even though it will doubtless end in the same bleak despair as all life."

Giritinuvielwen looked at her teachers one by one. "So be it," she declared firmly. "Five companions. You shall be the fellowship of… the… Mary-Sues who… are fighting against Ispace and the PPC and… er…" She flapped a hand dismissively. "Just go!"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All references to canons belong to their respective creators. The PPC was created by Jay and Acacia. Ispace is my own creation. The Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment is a spinoff of Hirilnara's _Diary of an Undercover Sue_, which in turn was a spinoff of the original _Ispace_, which was a spinoff of _Pancakes!_... it's a bit convoluted.

**Author's Note: **What, you thought we were going to do this without the participation of fangirls and Mary-Sues? The Ladies' Academy fills _both_ roles - a two for one deal! (Also, do you know how hard it is to write deliberately flat characters? Eesh)

**The Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment:** The Ladies' Academy was founded most of a decade ago - or, as they would describe it, simply continued to exist under new management and a new name, after the events which took place in the Training Academy of Mary-Sues. Their goal is simple - to take eager fangirls from the Real World, and through training and judicious enhancement, turn them into full-blown Mary-Sues. They are rather a small concern, compared to the League of Mary-Sue Factories and its associates, but (naturally) consider themselves the best.

(Eventually I'll stop having to do these 'what has gone before' synopses... like maybe next chapter?)


	5. The Ladies' Academy: Magiseer Karisana

_There is no end_

_And no beginning_

_We dare not voice_

_Our suffering_

Harry Potter snuck through the corridors of Hogwarts muttering to himself about how HerMOANY Granger was insisting she needed his help because the House Elfs she helped were being scared by something which was all very well but Harry had better things to do like the date with Ginny he'd turned down to come and help HerMOANY.

_It is not fair_

_How rough things are_

_We can't be happy_

_Not so far_

When Harry reached the basement where HerMOANY was supposed to be waiting for him she wasn't there which wasn't a surprise because she was never where she was supposed to be although she usually sent a message and just as he thought that he saw a woman standing by the wall and said 'Who are you?'

_It is quite rubbish_

_Being sad_

_I really feel_

_Pretty bad_

'I am Karisana Villada,' the woman told him, 'and I am called the Magiseer which is a special title given to me by Dumbledor and also by the Ministry of Magic which means I am the most powerful wizard in the world though really I'm not that good and it was just a fluke which they thought was me being powerful which might be because Dumbledore is secretly in love with me.'

_I wish to not be_

_Feeling rotten_

_Down in the dungeon_

_All forgotten_

'Oh well then it is nice to meet you,' said Harry, 'and also are you here because HerMOANY sent you because I was expecting to see her to help her with the House Elfs who are being scared by something but she is not here and you are which means she probably sent you.'

_Oh can it be_

_That my life sucks_

_When I would rather_

_That it rocked_

'Actually it was me that called you down here,' said the Magiseer, 'because your friend HerMOANY is not actually your friend and she is really not trying to help the House Elfs she is trying to train them into an unstoppable army which will conquer Hogwarts and make the humans serve them which would be pretty terrible really because everyone knows House Elfs wouldn't be able to stand up to Voldemort when he comes back.'

_Help me please_

_To feel a bit better_

_Because I am_

_Under the weather_

'Well that makes sense,' said Harry, 'because HerMOANY is always going on about how terrible we wizards are to the House Elfs and how we ought to set them free instead of leaving them in their proper place which is clearly the better idea but HerMOANY doesn't listen when I tell her that and of course Ron is on her side because he's in love with her so there's no-one I can turn to to help me.'

_What terrible luck_

_To be caught here_

_In a place where I_

_Would rather not be_

'There is me,' said the Magiseer shortly.

_Alas and woe_

_There's no escape_

_I will be here_

_Until my grave_

'But how could you help me,' said Harry, 'except oh yes I forgot that you are the Magiseer and the most powerful wizard because I don't believe it was just luck but rather skill which is something that takes a long time to learn and means a lot only I still don't know how you can use it to stop HerMOANY from taking over Hogwarts with her army and also I don't understand why you would want to help me.'

_Oh how sad_

_My life is_

_Trapped in a cage_

_Is where I is_

'Because I love you,' said the Magiseer shortly.

_Let me out_

_Or let me in_

_Just don't keep me_

_In this bin_

'Oh,' said Harry shortly.

_Help me now_

_Or help me later_

_Just take away_

_The cheese-grater_

Then they kissed and then the Magiseer used her wand to create a wind of silver stars which led them deeper into the dungeons to where HerMOANY was training her secret army of House Elfs which saw Harry and the Magiseer and ran up to try and kill them which knocked Harry over so the Magiseer held up her want and shouted 'HOUSUS ELFUS DEADUS' and all the House Elfs fell over dead and so did HerMOANY and when they went over to her the Magiseer cast another spell saying 'DISPELLUS ILLUSIONUS' and it turned out that HerMOANY Granger was really a House Elf in disguise so then the Magiseer took Harry to the infirmary because he was unconscious and when he woke up they got married and after their wedding Dumbledor came to them and said that he understood and also that Voldemort was still out there and the Magiseer said 'I know but we can kill him using my magick' and then they thought about how to do that but that is a story for another day.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter elements are the property of J.K. Rowling. This story, the 'song' in it, and the Magiseer, are entirely my own invention.

**Author's Note:** And thus, the Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment begin their attempt to distract Ispace from Princess Silverlocks III's infiltration effort. This plan can't possibly fail!


	6. OFUU: Gathering

Meduseld was dark when Dr Huinesoron pushed the door open, dark and cold – but not empty. Though the Riders of Rohan were gone – most of them to the Staff Section of OFUM – the Golden Hall was playing host to the Course Coordinators of the OFUs of the multiverse.

Miss Kat of OFUWho was fidgeting, as usual, though Dr Huinesoron doubted she'd ever occupied herself making chains out of discarded pieces of bridle before. Mr Allen and Miss Carol (IAHF and OFUH respectively) seemed moderately awestruck by the tapestries (one of which MBSFA's Mr Ben seemed to be trying to take home). Mr Marty, also of MBSFA, was glaring at the fire and shivering sporadically. And all of them, Dr Huinesoron noted with a suppressed sigh, had gotten there before him.

The door creaked as he closed it, and the Coordinators looked up (those that weren't already paying attention). "Thank you all for coming," Dr Huinesoron said. "This meeting was very short notice, and you all have things to do, so thank you for making the time."

He glanced at Miss Irene of UDEM and nodded. "I know those of you who chose not to join the Official Fanfiction University of Official Fanfiction Universities-" as always, the full name provoked chuckles from the group – "must be concerned, so I will say this out the outset: this has nothing to do with OFU-Squared. We'll do our thing, you do yours, no hard feelings."

Nods and murmurs from around the Hall. OFU2 had been controversial for a number of reasons, and several of the Coordinators still weren't back on speaking terms. Since Dr Huinesoron had been the driving force behind its establishment, he wasn't sure whether they actually believed him, but at least they were listening.

"As you may have heard," he said, pulling himself upright, "OFUDisc has been attacked. I've had to close down the university, send the students home, and take the non-canon staff into hiding."

Across the Hall, IAHF's Mr Hugh murmured something. Dr Huinesoron's ear twitched.

"I'm aware that some of you have been invaded before," he said, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice, "and I would never try to undermine that – but this is different. This isn't an invasion of fangirls, with their single-minded focus, or Sues, with their glitter-induced stupidity."

"Who is it, then?" someone asked, invisible in the shadows.

Dr Huinesoron held up the leaflet Cazzie had given him. The cover was dominated by a black circle, an elongated white 'S' cutting across it. "They call themselves Ispace," he announced. "Their self-appointed mission is to protect elves – _all_ elves, across the multiverse – from any form of harm. They will attack canon characters to protect Mary Sues. They invaded OFUDisc to 'rescue' one of our students from our 'cruelty'. They are heavily-armed, have technology I have never seen before – and they have set their sights on the Official Fanfiction Universities."

There was a long, dangerous silence. Then Mr Allen stood.

"Let them try."

Now Miss Kat was on her feet too, the brass rings she had been toying with falling from her fingers. "We cannot have another security breach," she said, seemingly to herself. "I must inform the minis to double the defences."

The fragile calm in the Golden Hall shattered, all the Coordinators talking at once. Mr Allen was glaring at his phone, trying to get a signal; Mr Marty was cursing and trying to push through to the door. Dr Huinesoron waved his hands for attention, but none was forthcoming.

Then he felt a stir in the air behind him, and a voice spoke – calm, yet cutting through the babble like razor-sharp claws. "Some quiet, if you please."

Silence fell like the Downfall of Numenor. Dr Huinesoron turned to look into the eyes of Miss Thundera Tiger, who smiled slightly and nodded towards the back of the hall. Dr Huinesoron followed her gaze, noticing for the first time the shadowy shape seated down there – not on Theoden's throne, but on a low stool beside it. He swallowed hard.

"Thank you," he said, certain that his words would be relayed. Then, again, to the whole group: "Thank you. Friends, colleagues – this is not a threat we can handle on our own. I know, I know." He held up a hand to ward off the objections he could see on various faces. "The OFUs have always been independent; that was the main argument against OFU-Squared. I'm not trying to reopen that discussion. But however independent we are as teaching establishments, we _need_ to unite our defences. Not even all the mini-Balrogs in Arda could hold off the spaceships I've seen from Ispace – and I guarentee you, OFUM will be one of their first targets. Where would you find more 'cruelty to elves' than Middle-earth?"

Despite the presence of a legendary OFUM Miss at his back, Dr Huinesoron felt the crowd's attention start to slip away again. The buzz of conversation rose, and he had to raise his voice to still be heard.

"I propose an alliance – a pooling of our strength to strike back against Ispace, wherever they may hit us. And a refuge, for when we can't hit them hard enough – which I assure you _will_ happen, however fast we move. An OFU is its staff, not its buildings; if we lose the teachers, it doesn't matter how hard we fight, we _will_ have already lost the battle." He was shouting now, straining to be heard. "_We can't take on Ispace individually! There's more strength in numbers! WE HAVE TO WORK TOGETHER, OR WE WILL-_"

Miss Thundera Tiger touched his shoulder. "Enough," she said, slipping her words under the racket. "They understand. They'll do what is right. Just give them time."

"But I don't know if we _have_ time."

"Neither do I."

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Middle-earth belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The OFU concept and Miss Thundera Tiger belong to Miss Cam, and are used with permission. IAHF and MBSFA and their staff belong to Lily Winterwood, OFWho to Kittythekatty, and OFUH to Snowy the Sane Fangirl. OFUDisc and Ispace are my own, as are all plot details.

**Author's Note:** This chapter was one of the more difficult to write, because it required multiple people to make it work. While the Coordinator of every single OFU is at the meeting (or at least, was invited), the only ones I've given specific details of are the ones I've specifically requested to use - or, in the case of Miss Thundera Tiger, have been opened up for general light use by Miss Cam.


	7. (Spoilers!): Formation

"-ridiculous," Dafydd snapped. "I was stopped by one of the Sub Rosa's spies in Malijach the other day – _me_! Oh, he apologised afterwards, sort of, but do you know what he said? 'We can't be too careful'. To _me_!"

Narto listened, wide-eyed, as Dafydd continued to rant. Lou glanced up at the ceiling. "I thought you'd show up," she murmured.

A door slammed somewhere in the Illian home, and a moment later Constance stalked in. "It's confirmed," she announced. "I checked with my sources, and-"

"Wait, you have sources?" Dafydd cut her off. "Where can I get some?"

Constance poked her tongue out at him. "Well, I talked to Steve, at any rate. Maybe if you didn't drive all your partners insane…"

"Unfair," Dafydd countered. "Not _all_ of you are bonkers."

"Only through great force of will," Constance sniffed. "Oh, that reminds me – I ran into someone else with an interest in all this."

Narto raised an eyebrow. "Anyone we know?" he asked. "You could have invited them to come along…"

Constance winked at him. "Who says I didn't?" she asked, and then addressed the empty air. "Fëamintë – please pop in."

There was a light in the room. It didn't seem to have a source – and in fact, it didn't seem to have just appeared. It was as if, despite only just having arrived, it had always been there.

And deep down, so far inside that they felt it was almost hidden in their very DNA, there was a message the former PPC agents were only now able to understand.

{{Hi, Dafydd. It's been a long time.}}

Dafydd stared at the apparition. He opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it again to take a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay," he managed in a slightly shaky voice. "I may be old, but I recognise a non-incarnate Maia when I see – or hear – one. But… you called me Dafydd?"

The light seemed to twinkle with amusement. {{That I did. Would you prefer 'Attafinwë Makalaurë'?}}

Dafydd shuddered. "Not really. But, er, how do you know my current name? Connie?"

Constance chuckled. "I didn't say anything. I didn't have to."

{{Did you catch _my_ name?}} the Maia asked. Dafydd frowned.

"Fëamintë… I'm guessing you prefer 'Soft Spirit' to the other translations?"

{{Yes,}} Fëamintë confirmed. {{And in full, Fëamintë-Fioncarnë – they called me the Fire-hued Hawk. And when I fought at the side of my lord Oromë, as the Eldar quaked in fear around Cuivienen, the Abhorred snared me in powerful magic, casting me adrift in time and trapping me in the body of a child. All I remembered was the echo of my name, and the woman who found me, cared for me, and became my mother in every meaningful sense… well, she can't be blamed for not quite catching the sound. She made her best effort, but as I grew up, went to school, and did all the things a girl-child of Wales does, it was under a new name: Veminta Fincaran.}}

"… oh." Dafydd blinked. "Vemi. Hi."

{{Hi, yourself.}}

"Aren't reunions wonderful?" Lou said, stretching out her legs. "But I'm not sure how this helps with our problem."

{{We have a problem?}} Fëamintë asked. The other four nodded.

"The PPC are getting… well, nervous," Narto explained. "They keep harassing anyone not native to a canon – which, since we live out here in the Multiverse, sometimes includes us."

"And now I know why," Constance supplied. "Apparently there's rumours going round HQ like wildfire of some group out to wreck Canon. They call themselves 'Ispace'."

Dafydd stared. "Wait, _the_ Ispace?" he asked, to general looks of bewilderment. "The Interdimensional Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Elves? But they're on _our_ side. I worked with them once…"

"The PPC's supposed to be on 'our' side, too," Lou pointed out. "I think we might be a side all of our own."

"How can we be a _side_?" Narto asked. "All we want is to be left alone!"

{{That's not quite true,}} Fëamintë noted. {{We also want everyone _else_ to be left alone. Freedom of access for canon universes.}}

"Well, not _everyone_, Dafydd corrected. "Mary-Sues and their ilk shouldn't be allowed in, of course."

"Independence for residents and freedom of movement for visitors, provided canon is maintained," Constance suggested, and then frowned. "Isn't there someone else who works on that principle?"

"Well, the PPC, in theory," Narto pointed out. "But in practice…"

"No, not them." Constance scowled. "It's on the tip of my brain…"

{{Jurisfiction,}} Fëamintë supplied. {{They're very much of the 'if you don't break the original, do what you will' school. I believe that's why the proposed liason with the PPC fell through, actually.}}

"I'm not joining Jurisfiction," Dafydd said flatly.

"And I'm not suggesting we should," Constance retorted. "But an alliance… _that_ might make the PPC – and Ispace, whatever they're up to – play nice."

"I doubt the Bellman would be interested in an 'alliance' with a bunch of random strangers," Lou pointed out, "whichever version we talked to."

Dafydd's frown slowly morphed into a wide grin. "Well, then," he said, "we'll just have to organise…"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Middle-earth and all its components belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. The PPC was created by Jay and Acacia. Jurisfiction belongs to Jasper Fforde. All characters and details of plot are mine (as is Malijach).

**Author's Note:** And so we finally meet our last major participants in the Ispace Wars, the… well, I suppose I can't tell you what they're going to call themselves, can I? Spoilers!

Fëamintë was formerly the PPC agent Vemi, until she managed to get herself killed and discovered she was actually a Maia trapped in a human body. She worked as Dafydd's temporary partner from time to time. She normally speaks in pointed brackets these days, but FFN strips them out.

Dafydd, Constance, Narto, Lou, and Vemi are all ex-PPC Agents written by me; links to my PPC writings can be found on the OFUDisc/Ispace blog listed on my profile.


	8. The Ladies' Academy: Giritinuvielwen

Giritinuvielwen – let's call her Giri, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that this would give her conniptions – was unaccustomedly nervous as she stepped from the grass of Dalek-occupied Earth into the huge, glass-fronted building. She wasn't used to such trepidation, since she was a Mary-Sue, and therefore perfect in every way (including 'perfectly in control'). In this case, though, she wasn't in a story of her own devising, or one written for her. She was in the lobby of Dreams Come True, Inc, the largest and oldest surviving Mary-Sue Factory – and headquarters of the Venomous Tentacula's League of Mary-Sue Factories. In short, she was outnumbered, outclassed, and (she began to feel), hideously outdated.

The attendant behind the desk – a factory Sue whose creation had gone awry, one of the colourless creatures known as Defectives – listened carefully and with obvious disinterest to Giri's explanation of her presence. Then, almost Sue-like in her languor, she pointed down one of the Factory's many corridors.

"The Venomous Tentacula's office is that way," she said. "The others are already there."

"Others? What others?" Giri demanded, but the Defective didn't even bother to acknowledge the question. Giri thought about grabbing her, forcing some answers out of her – but no, wanton violence was Celia's field. Better to stick to her strengths: her brain.

The corridor was a long one, with windows onto various parts of the plant's production systems. As she walked, Giri saw Sues being born naked and perfect from their glittery pods, Sues with close-fitting helmets over their flowing hair as knowledge and skills were burnt into their malleable brains, Sues lying prone in front of sparkling portals as machines dressed them for their stories and roles. It was all very efficient, very controlled – and it made Giri sick.

Factory Sues, as she'd always said, weren't real people. They were basically living robots, going through the motions, hardly noticing the Worlds around them. Sure, Giri's students might _look_ like that when you read their stories – what Sue wants to be seen reacting to events when she can shape them to her will instead? – but inside they had all the feelings, all the emotions and concerns of baseline fangirl stock. The only difference was that, once they'd finished training with her, they were _better_.

The corridor ended in a large, well-lit antechamber. At intervals around the walls were soft armchairs, in which were seated a surprisingly non-varied variety of fangirls and Mary-Sues (with the occasional 'Stu thrown in for… Giri searched for a word other than variety, but had to give up). The Suvians were roughly evenly split between those who were glaring suspiciously at each other, and those who were grinning vacantly as they watched the songbirds flitting around near the ceiling.

Giri took one of the few remaining seats and hastily revised her plans. She had assumed she would be the only visitor to the Factory – the likelihood that others were also here to secure the Venomous Tentacula as an ally changed things considerably. She would have to-

"Giri?" exclaimed a soprano voice. "Giritinuvielwen?"

"That's _Headmistress_ Giritinuvielwen," Giri snapped, and turned to see a golden-haired vision of waiflike beauty. "And who's asking?"

"Don't you remember me?" the Mary-Sue asked. "I'm Claribella – I graduated a few months after you came to TAMS."

Giri frowned prettily and studied the other girl. She supposed Claribella's features _could_ be visible on that Suvian face, but it was a stretch. "Of course I remember you!" she gushed. "How could I forget? What have you been up to? Been in any cool stories?"

"Oh, you know, a couple," Claribella (if it was even her) admitted airily. "This one time I was Queen of Gondor and Legolas had to rescue me from Aragorn's evil ways, so then I was Queen of Milkwood instead and we had lots of pretty babies." She beamed at Giri, who was listening intently – if there's one thing a fangirl-turned-Mary-Sue enjoys, it's Mary-Sue stories.

"Of course, that was all a long time ago," Claribella went on. "I've moved into a new place since then. Have you heard of Sparklee?"

"I don't think so," Giri admitted reluctantly. "It sounds sparkly, though."

Claribella giggled. "You're so _clever_! Anyways, it's this whole city of Mary-Sues, and it is _so cool_. Of course it's not what it used to be – those meanies at the PPC tried to ruin the whole place, but it's our city! We can write whatever we want!" She paused for breath. "So we have all these Mary-Sue-only activities, and lots of hott guys who are just as perfect as us, and it's like fantastic! You should come and join us!"

Giri had to admit it sounded tempting. On the other hand, who would want to live somewhere the PPC already knew about? At least the Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment was hidden. Of course, that didn't mean Sparklee couldn't be a valuable ally…

"So what are you doing here?" Giri asked, getting in just before Claribella began to talk again. The other Mary-Sue beamed.

"Oh, this Factory, it's so fantastic, isn't it? We use some of the same technology in Sparklee; actually some of the long-term residents say the Factories got it from us. So we thought that if we're basically doing the same thing as the League, why shouldn't we be _in_ the League? That way we could all share our stuff around, and they can defend us from-" She stopped, looking guilty. "I mean, we can fight together against the evil flaming troll meanies."

Giri understood her self-correction. No Mary-Sue ever wanted to admit they couldn't cope with something, whether it was cold weather or a potential invasion by the so-called Canon Protection Initiative. "So what about… you know, _them_?" she asked, waving a hand at the other Mary-Sues. "Are they from Sparklee too?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Claribella admitted. "The only one I know is Snixie over there." She nodded at one of the suspicious fangirls, one dressed in a black leather trenchcoat. "She's nasty."

"She looks it," Giri murmured.

Claribella laughed her tinkling laugh. "No, silly – N.A.S.T.Y.! The Neo Abduction Schemers Treaty of Youth. Apparently they're a group of fangirls who are out to kidnap some hott guys – I'm not sure who. Anyway, she wandered into Sparklee once upon a time, stuck around for a little while – that's how I know her. I don't know what she's doing _here_, though."

Giri studied Snixie, and Claribella, and in fact all the Sues and fangirls. They were liable to cause problems for her – if the League was overwhelmed with needy girls out for aid, they'd be less inclined to listen to her offer. Of course, that worked both ways – if the League rejected her, there would be plenty of other candidates to ask. "I've been thinking," she said at last, ignoring the gasp of shock from Claribella and a couple of the nearer Sues. "Your Sparklee and my Ladies' Academy – we have a lot in common…"

The hours passed. Giri conversed with half a dozen Sues and fangirls (including Snixie – she was just as grumpy as she looked), and every so often a Defective came out to call another one of the girls into the office. Eventually – _finally_ – it was Giri's turn. She followed the colourless woman – it looked much the same as the one on the front desk – into a small, dimly-lit room. Behind a steel desk waited the undisputed master of the Factory, and slightly disputed leader of the League – the Venomous Tentacula herself.

_Welcome, my dear,_ the Plant said, and Giri shuddered slightly at the feel of that smooth voice slipping directly into her thoughts. _Do take a seat_.

Giri looked around for a chair, but found nothing more comfortable-looking than a dirty old flowerpot. "Um, you don't have any," she pointed out.

The Tentacula looked at her – or at least, pointed a flower in her direction – with what seemed to Giri to be faint disappointment. _Then you will have to stand. So, my dear, you are here representing the… Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment, correct?_

Giri relaxed slightly. Clearly the Tentacula had been reading up on her – that was definitely a positive sign. "That's us," she acknowledged. "We've been making the Multiverse a better place for, ooh, more than ten years now – we may be small, but we make a big impression."

_Indeed. My dear, are you aware that your name translates as 'Shuddering Nightingale Girl'?_

Giri glowered, then hastily switched on her disdainful look and tossed her hair. "Well, that's what _boring_ people say, anyway. I say, it's fan_fiction_! I can translate my name however I want!"

This time the Tentacula's look was more positive, though Giri was sure she had noticed the initial, uncontrolled response. _I can see you have been well-trained, my dear,_ the Tentacula said. _So – what would you bring to the League?_

Giri blinked. "Chocolates?" she hazarded. "Or, um, plant food? The good kind?"

_How thoughtful of you. But my meaning was: were we to accept your application to join the League, what contributions would you-_

"Wait, wait, wait." Giri held up a hand. "_Join_ the League?"

_Well, yes._ The Tentacula sounded perplexed. _Is there a problem, my dear?_

"I'm not here to join you," Giri said, somehow managing to supress a shudder at the very thought. "My Academy is… _too dissimilar_ to your Factories. I thought you understood – I'm here to offer an alliance."

There was a long silence.

_An… alliance?_

"Against Ispace – and the PPC," Giri added hastily, aware that not everyone had quite as much experience of Ispace as she did. "They're fighting each other now, so this is the perfect time to strike!"

There was an even longer silence.

_My dear,_ said the Venomous Tentacula, _are you aware that we have more than fifty fully-modernized Mary-Sue Factories in the League, each capable of producing 300 Sues per hour?_

"Well, not as such," Giri admitted, "but I-"

_And your 'Academy' has 165 students total – and takes over a year to pass each one?_

"Ah, that's one hundred and sixty _six_," Giri pointed out. "I know, my handwriting's terrible, but I've never been one for the 'flowing calligraphy' thing, so-"

_Please be quiet,_ the Tentacula said softly, and Giri's mouth snapped shut. _Thank you. My dear Giritinuvielwen, whatever makes you think the League would have anything to gain from an 'alliance' with you?"_

Giri blinked. "Well, you could help me to-"

_Yes. This is why we in the League leave Mary-Sues in your proper place, rather than promoting you above your station. Look what happened last time we made _that_ mistake._ She shook her tentacles in disgust. _What use is a leader who only thinks about herself?_

"That's not fair!" Giri exclaimed. "While building up my Academy I was nice to _loads_ of people who helped me."

_Exactly._ The Tentacula's friendly, almost motherly façade had fallen away, exposing cold steel. _You are no use to us. Get out._

* * *

As the Mary-Sue flounced out, slamming the door behind her, a thought came from the shadows of the office. _She does have a point, though. Ispace and the PPC at odds? We could do… many things with that._

The Venomous Tentacula swivelled in place to face her guest. _Take on the PPC in battle? You know how that ends up._

A Flower emerged from the darkness. From the tips of his roots to the very top of his stem, he was dressed in flexible armour, matt black so as to render him invisible. His yellow petals had been trimmed into sharp points, and capped with lethal, knife-edged steel. Burned onto one scarred leaf was the emblem of his master – the sword-wielding cactus of the Sunflower Emperor.

_Your experiences have made you cautious,_ General Dandy acknowledged, tilting his bloom towards the Tentacula. _That is good. But beware caution does not turn to cowardice. We of the EPC have never had any trouble dealing with the Protectors._

_You have never faced them in open war as we have,_ the Tentacula noted icily. _Perhaps when it is _your_ people who do the dying, you will be less cavalier about the danger._

_Why go after the PPC at all?_ wondered another mind, and the Horsetail shuffled into view. _Ispace are just as big a nuisance, if not more so. Last quarter alone they cost us over a billion standardised credits-_

_I was under the impression that was due to corporate infighting,_ _not Ispace,_ General Dandy observed. _How was it _they_ caused a third of your sales staff to schism – _again – _and form their own company?_

The Horsetail's branches twitched as he faced the Dandelion. _Ispace's interference, their 'protection of elves', severely curtailed our supply of several important… ingredients,_ he blustered. _Without them, BioInc would have-_

_Oh, calm down before you lose your top,_ the Tentacula cut in. _You're right that Ispace are just as meddlesome – if smaller – as our mutual originators. And with all our new League members, we won't even need to use valuable stock for the attack…_

General Dandy looked between the two Flowers, then shrugged his leaves dismissively. _Very well,_ he said. _I'll work up an assault plan._

_Thank you, dear._ The Venomous Tentacula tapped a button on her desk. _Veronica? We're ready now, my dear. Send in the next hopeful._

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Giritinuvielwen belongs to Hirilnara. The Enforcers of the Plot Continuum (EPC) were created by Tawaki. The League of Mary-Sue Factories was created by me and expanded on by Lily Winterwood. N.A.S.T.Y. belong to Techno-Dann, Sparklee to Ekwy, and the PPC, as always, to Jay and Acacia. All details of plot are my own.

**Author's Note:** Just in case things weren't complicated enough… do the League and colleagues count as a fifth side in this conflict? You can see why it's called _The Ispace WarS_…

**The League of Mary-Sue Factories**: The original Mary-Sue Factory was built by the PPC, though most of them knew nothing of it. Devised, along with its sister company Biotechnology, Inc, to make money for the PPC's efforts, it broke away from PPC control during the Reorganisation. Since then, the League has grown into a multiverse-spanning organisation bent on… well, _something_, which probably involves glitter. BioInc (rebranded to make themselves cool) work alongside them, pillaging canon worlds for their own profit. And the EPC? They're from the Mirror Multiverse, where everything is seen through a dark mirror – a version of the PPC out not to free the Word Worlds, but to enslave…


	9. Ispace: Alteration

"This isn't going to work, you know."

Liliac scowled at the duck-billed platypus perched on a wall beside her. "Don't be such a pessimist, Platy."

The Noble Platypus waggled her beak. "I'm being a _realist_," she corrected. "Remember what happened when we tried to stop the rise of Slaneesh?"

Liliac winced, her left hand rising to touch the black-rimmed badge that commemorated the operatives Ispace had lost on that job. "We knew that was a long shot," she pointed out. "But we didn't have a choice. Before Aranel got the bridges working through OFU blocks, we _needed_ the Eldar. That job was their price."

"It was too high," Platy said bluntly. "Kjersti, Blizz… they didn't deserve to die like that."

Liliac nodded, pulling her purple cloak tighter around herself. "No. But this isn't the same, Platy."

"Lili, trying to save Hyrule from being flooded wasn't 'the same', either, and look how well that turned out. Land's sake, we couldn't even get _Santa's_ elfs a decent medical plan, and Old Ho Ho Ho is a pushover."

"So what are you suggesting?" Liliac snapped, whirling to face her. "That we just give up and go home? Platy, you've seen the projections: if we let elves become as despised and abused as some writers want, _all of fiction_ will be wrecked. You want to allow that just because we've had a few setbacks?"

Platy clacked her beak irritably. "No, Lili. But… don't you remember the days when we fought off hordes of fangirls, and sent out bodyguards to protect Legolas from Mary-Sues?"

"I do," Liliac said. "And I also remember the continuing downward slide of fiction in the last decade. Face it, Platy – fangirls and 'Sues, they're not the cause of the decline. They're just symptoms. We're not going to stop sending operatives into fanfics – but we need to strike at the root. Mistreatment of elves goes a lot further than just Mary-Sues."

Platy rubbed her claws together, then sighed. "I lost this argument when Glorfindel abandoned us, I know. It's just… forget it." She peered past Liliac to where the operatives of Ispace were gathered. "It looks like Hethien's just about got things set up. Everyone's in place, except…" Her gaze drifted to the white staircase, and the black-clad figure sitting halfway up it, a shadow in the starlight. "Lili," she said, lowering her voice, "why did you bring _her_?"

Liliac shook her head slightly. "I'm honestly not sure," she admitted. "I suppose I just want her to _understand_, to see what we do – the positive side of things."

"And you think this assignment will show her that?"

"I gave her a copy of the book." Liliac gave a humourless chuckle. "I doubt she looked at it, but if she did, she'll know the harm that's going to come of this night. She'll see that we're the _good guys_."

Platy muttered something, then hopped down from the wall. "We'd better not kill anyone, then," she said. "Hustle along, Lili – your army awaits."

Liliac hesitated. "You know where we're going," she said. "Grab hold of Hethien and get them headed for the tower. I'll catch you up – herding two dozen operatives isn't going to be a quick job."

"If I didn't know any better," Platy murmured, "I'd think you were grooming me to take over for you… which, by the way, is never going to happen." She scurried off into the gloom, her poisoned spurs clicking on the flagstones.

Liliac crossed to the staircase and looked up at the hunched figure. "We're going," she said, her voice coming out flatter than she'd intended. "Come along."

The hooded figure raised its head (_Why_, Liliac asked herself, _did I give her a cloak with a hood?_) and looked down at Liliac through burning blue eyes. "AND WHAT IF I DON'T?" the Death of Fangirls asked.

Liliac winced. "I thought you were getting better," she said softly. "This past week, you've been more like you used to be."

"A MISTAKE," Phoebe intoned, pulling her cloak tighter. "I BEGAN TO FORGET HOW MANIPULATIVE YOU WERE. BUT YOU HAVE REMINDED ME." Her tone suddenly shifted, into an uncanny parody of Liliac's voice. "'I just want her to see what we do. To understand that we're the _good guys_.'"

"How did you…?" Liliac frowned. "Oh. Elven hearing."

"CORRECT."

Liliac pinched the bridge of her nose, only half-hearing the retreating voices which meant Ispace's operatives were on the move. "We're going," she said, resolving to restart the whole conversation. "You're coming with me. I can't exactly leave you here."

Phoebe looked out over the dark city, the only lights a handful of lanterns, the stars glinting overhead – and the mass of torches towards which Ispace was heading. "You could," she said in a dreamy tone. "I'm safe here. And it's…" She sighed, the blue light in her eyes flickering, then looked back at Liliac. "I'LL COME."

Liliac tried not to flinch. "Good," she said. "Then let's… let's go."

The stairs and streets of the cities glittered in the light of Liliac's torch as she led Phoebe towards their destination. The great tower loomed ahead of them, its silver beacon dark, its marble walls stained yellow by flickering torchlight. As they drew nearer, Liliac began to hear a murmur of distant voices, which all too soon became the roar of an angry crowd.

The last flight of stairs led onto a terrace, raised above the great square, and Liliac saw the whole scene spread out before her: the throng of elves filling the plaza, the great white tree spreading its branches skywards as if to catch the dim starlight – and, on the very steps of the tower, the glitter of bared steel.

"It's just like I imagined," she breathed, luxuriating in the sight – then shook herself and leant against the balcony rail, peering for her operatives.

"You can see Hethien and Platy coming round the south side of the Mindon," she said over her shoulder to Phoebe. "They're leading the primary assault team, but I hope we won't need them. Concord and Shard's crew are trying to alter the opinion of the crowd – that's a backup plan, again, for if everything else fails. And down there…" She pointed at a cluster of people, pushing through the gathered elves. "That's Kria from Admin and Runcible from Protection; they're our best, well, diplomats, I suppose. If they can't convince him to give up this madness, no-one can."

Phoebe stood next to her, hands behind her back, spine straight. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" she asked.

Liliac felt an irresistable impulse to answer – but she'd intended to do so anyway. "Do you realise who that _is_?" she demanded. "That's-"

"YES."

"- _Fëanor_," Liliac went on, ignoring her. "He and his sons are about five minutes from making the most dangerous Oath in the history of Middle-earth – of elves anywhere, really. It leads to three Kinslayings, a mass exodus from the Blessed Realm, a brutal war which will kill tens of thousands – all of it from this moment. If – _when_ – we change that, when we talk him down, persuade him to stay and help the Valar… can you _imagine_ the good that will come of it? The lives improved, the elves saved?"

Phoebe was silent for a long moment, staring out at the crowd. "AND WHAT OF THE STORY?" she asked eventually.

Liliac shook her head. "The story which leads directly to his death, and the deaths of all those others? Who cares about that?"

"Well," a new voice said – an upper-class English voice, with overtones of champagne and caviar – "for a start, _we_ do."

Liliac turned and stared at the trio who had somehow gotten behind her. They weren't the blasted meddling PPC, she could tell that – PPC agents dressed in black, not plaid, exoskeletal armour, and what seemed to be a leopard-skin bikini.

The one in the armour held up a hand, and a holographic symbol appeared above it: an open book on some sort of cushion, with a vivid red flame above it. "Jurisfiction," she said, in a stern, no-nonsense voice. "Your unapproved plot alteration stops here."

"Oh for elf's sake," Liliac groaned. "You're _just_ as bad as the PPC."

The one in the bikini glared at her. "We're nothing like that bunch of reckless vigilantes," she growled.

The armour shot her a look. "No," she agreed, turning back to Liliac. "For you, we're worse."

But Liliac had recovered her composure. She looked over her shoulder at the gathering below. "You can't stop us, though," she said, knowing she sounded smug and not really caring. "My operatives are almost in position – and you're here arguing with me. Fëanor will _not_ leave this cit-"

The one in the armour leapt into the air, vanishing in mid-flight – not gone, Liliac sensed, but invisible. The crowd below looked up at the faint rumble that coursed through the air, and then Kria and Runcible – and with them, Liliac's entire plan – fell to the floor as the armoured Jurisfiction agent landed behind them.

"It isn't wise to attempt to make fools of Jurisfiction," the plaid one told Liliac casually. "We have been doing this a very long time."

"Oh, yeah?" Liliac swept her cloak back, placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Maybe you have. But you've never faced Ispace before. As far as I'm concerned, you're just one more bunch of self-appointed dictators trying to keep the human imagination limited."

"Really?" the bikini ground out. "You're really going to try and fight _us_?"

"You started this," Liliac told her. "We're just trying to do _good_ here – don't you understand that?"

"What you are trying to do," the plaid one said, "is ruin an exceptionally good story. And Jurisfiction will not stand by and let that happen."

"You think you can _stop_ us?" Liliac demanded, realising too late that she was simply echoing the bikini. "You're-"

"Liliac," Phoebe said, and Liliac span round to stare at her. Her eyes were their normal colour again, and filled with what looked uncomfortably like pity. "It's over. Let it go." She gestured out at the square below the tower.

Liliac half-turned, scrutinising the crowd. All of her agents were out of commission, most of them corralled behind the tower, their hands tied. Hethien and Platy seemed to have disappeared entirely. And on the steps of the Mindon, the tall figure of Fëanor had drawn his sword. It glittered in the torchlight like the death of kings.

"Your friend understands," the plaid one said. "You will be taken into custody until your trial; you have no need to fear for your safety. You will-"

"Like hell," Liliac snarled. She grabbed her phone out of her pocket and slammed her thumb on the quick-dial key. "Aranel," she snapped, "emergency transit, my location." Reaching out her other hand, she grabbed Phoebe's arm, ignoring the girl's attempt to pull away, and glared at the Jurisfiction agents.

"You will regret this day," she said. "You want to take us down? Ispace won't go without a fight. It's war – and you brought it upon yourself." Behind her, she heard a roar of displaced air, and knew that the black heart of a wormhole bridge had appeared, blazing rapidly to its full scale. In less than a second, a haze of blue light surrounded her. The Jurisfiction agents started forward – and Liliac pulled Phoebe back, into the wormhole, and away.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. Jurisfiction belong to Jasper Fforde. The PPC is Jay and Acacia's, and Ispace, with all the plot that's accumulating around them, are mine.

**Author's Note:** So. Did you think Ispace were just out to poke the PPC a little bit, maybe throw a spanner in the wheels of the OFUs? No. They have much bigger goals. Though, it seems they've got a bit of dissention in the ranks.

The Jurisfiction agents here are no-one in particular; I don't have access to the books, so trying to write actual characters seemed like a bad plan. Though not as bad as 'let's make Fëanor into a good guy!'. And, yes, most of the Ispace operatives on this mission are now prisoners of war. Alas, poor bunch-of-people-we've-never-heard-of-before!

**Jurisfiction:** Jurisfiction are the police force of the BookWorld - the universe inhabited by the characters in fiction. The people of BookWorld are able to move between books, and in some cases, are aware of their fictional nature. The PPC's Division of Applied-and-theoretical Multiversal Physics is working on a theory to explain precisely how this works when the PPC knows that all the canons are their own universes in which the stories merely take place; so far, the best they've got is 'what I told you was the truth, from a certain point of view'.

Regardless of the intricacies of its nature, Jurisfiction takes its task of protecting the BookWorld from meddling very seriously indeed. They tolerate the PPC, since agents do their best to stay away from canon; Ispace, however, have just crossed a line.


	10. The Ladies' Academy: Marchessa

**Battle of the Heroes**

In the benigging there were six tribes of elfs. They was the sun Elves the Wood elfs the Moon Elfs the See Elves the Drow elves and the Wide Elfs. And they were all in war. But hidden deep beneath the mountains of Faerun was a seventh typo of elf…

Drizzt Do-Urden was restlessly. The goddess Lolth had send him a message saying that THE DAY OF TH STARS IS COME and, he didn't know what it means. So he was hiding in the wood to try and not be found by anyon. But then a spider came in through the roof; and Drizzt knew it was Lolth.

"I know it was you, Lolth," said, Drizzt, while drawing his swords Twinkle, and Icingdeath and holding them at Lolth. "You can't not hide from me."

"But why do you think I am Lolth?" asked the spider, and it turned into… a Drow Elv! Then Drizzt said, "Gasp! But you are dead?"

"The ways of the Underdark are dark and mystery," said the Drow Elf. "It is I, your sister who is called Vierna!"

"But you are dead?" Drizzt repeated again. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I killed you."

"You did," Vierna agreed, "but now I am better again because of the magic of Lolth. And I have been send to give you a message, it is, THE DAY OF STAR HAS COME."

"Gasp!" said Drizzt. "But what does that mean?"

"IT MEANS ME," said a other voice, and, there was a bright ligh at the window and, something came in.

"IT MEANS ME", said the voice as the woman, revelled herself to be a woman. "I am call Marchessa, and I am the Queeness of the Star Elf."

"Gasp!" said Drizzt. "But why ar you her?"

"To bring the light, of the stars back to Faerun," exclaimed Marchessa. "Ten hundred years ago the other elvs tried to lock the Star Elves away but, we escaped now and it is our time agin! Doyou not feel good already?"

Drizzt looked at the start elf and he did feel good. "That is the light of. The stars filling you" said Marchessa.

"Drizzt," said Vierna "this star Elf is bad. We lock them away for a good reason: they want to destroy everything which is nice."

"Oh," said Drizzt and; "Gasp!" And then he, was looked at the two women and he, said "why are you both of you naked!

"Because Lolth, told me to be" stated Vierna "She said I" had to work against Marchessa"

"I'm am just here to bring love to, the word!" said Marchessa. "Drizzt! Do you not think I am not beutiful."

Drizzt locked at Marchessa and saw that she had curves in all the write places. Her hair, was a luscious red with silver highlights and, it ran down her beck like a waterfall of ice. She was using her, hands to cove herself modestly; and Drizzt could saw that she has long red fingernaisl. Her eyes are large and pruple with god flecks and, her skin seems to glow from within with, the light of the stars.

"You are beautiful," Drizzt says, "and I, think I am love you."

"But weight!" explains Vierna. "Surly I am more beautiful."

And Drizzt looks at Vierna and, sees that her curves are also perfect and, her skin is as black as midnight with a dark light coming out of it; also her hair is pure, white and braided in braids with silver) hairclips. Here eyes glow a sensual red and, she stands as if she were proud of her body and wants to display it.

"You are beautiful" Drizzt says ",and I think, I would love you too. BNut you are my sister!"

"O that's' okay," says Vierna" because Lolth has made it so we are not related now. And so you' are free to love me.'

"But I have more beautiful" said Marchessa seductively. "Drizzt if, you come with me Iwill use the power of the gods Giritinu to give,you magic powers and also make your skinnot dark."

Drizzt was tempered by this because he, had always wanted his skin to be normal again. He put away his sword and went toward Marchessa.

But wait!" said Vierna, "because if you go with, her she will destroy the world and also you will be destroyed.

"I agree," Drizzt agreed "butt she is very beautiful. Maybe she will help, me with forget Eellifain and Catti-brie and, Dahlia." So Drizzt held out his, arms to Marchessa.

"Yes my belove" said Marchessa, "come with me and I will be happy together in the Snowflake Mountains!"

I will come with yo," said Drizzt, but then Vierna grabbed his sword from him and stabs Marchessa through the hart!

"Noooooo" said Drizzt. He held Marchessa in his armies as she bled and he kissed her all over her body. "Marchessa I, love you{ you can't die!"

"Yes she can!" laughed Vierna. Dying is all she can doing now!"

"No!" Drizzt grabbed his other sword Twinkledeath and lunged at Vierna but, she lifted Icing and stopped him.

"You can fight me bro,ther, Lolth's power is in me" said Vierna.

"We'll maybe there is more powers in the world than Lolth," said Drizzt while they fought. Maybe Marchessa had a god of her own who will help me."

"Yes I do!" said Marchessa while a white glow came through the window and surrounds her and pick her up again. 'The Sun Elfs worship the one true goddess who is called Seldarine! And her pow will help you Drizzt just like is has healed me!" And she cried out in a strange tongue: "_Dann sind die Decken mit Schnee bedeckt!_"

Drizzt was full with strength and fought Vierna back, taking her sword and breaking it over his knee as he held her against the wall. Marchessa still, floating, came over to them.

"You tried to kill me," she said to Vierna 'because, you do not understand the ways of Seldarine are foreign to you. The false god Lolth has put a spell on you.'

"No, that's is not true!" explained Vierna. "I am a loyal servant of Lolth is my god!'

"I will kill you again!" cried Drizzt, drawing his sword, but Marchessa put ont hengle hand on his arm.

"No because that is what Lolth wants" she said. "Instead we should take her with us Together our love, can heal her and make her ggood again.'

"Maybe," said Drizzt as he kissed Marchessa "but I fear the power of the Underdark will never let her go.'

"Oh my, love" explained Marchessa "that is because you do not understand the powers of Seldarine's power. Vierna can be redeemed = even as I was!"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Forgotten Realms_ belongs to Ed Greenwood. Drizzt Do'Urden belongs to RA Salvatore. This story, and Marchessa, belong to me (heaven help me).

**Author's Note:** The Ladies' Academy for Mary-Sue Enrichment continue their brilliant scheme to distract Ispace while their strike is underway. It's genius, I tell you, genius!

Yeah, this chapter hurt. Trivia: the random line of German spoken by Marchessa is, according to my grandfather, the only one he can remember after learning it during WWII: _Then are the roofs covered with snow_...


	11. PPC: Marchessa

It is said that silence is the absence of sound. In a way that is true; where there is no sound, it is silent. But silence can have an existence of its own: a heavy, suffocating air that covers everything within its grasp.

RC log _e _was covered in such a silence ever since a couple of DIA officers forcibly removed the not-so-sane Anebrin from the Sunflower Official's office. His erstwhile partner, Desdendelle, did not leave his bed. The console didn't even [bip], somehow feeling the atmosphere, and even the minis quieted down after Des shouted at them to shut up.

Des alternated between sleeping fitfully, having bad nightmares, and chewing himself out for his partner's insanity. His bed was a mess and so were his clothes; his goatee was growing wild, and he positively stank. His belt was lying on the table, its loop still torn. He still hadn't mended it after he tore his axe from it in a futile attempt to stop Anebrin from executing the Sue and the other two OCs in their last mission. He would have roused from his stupor — by pangs of hunger if nothing else — sooner or later. As things were, it was 'sooner'.

A few days after the mission, when even Arctic circle (who was an animated circle of ice) couldn't bear the stench, someone opened the RC's door. The creak of the wooden door's hinges caused the minis to stir in their corner of the RC's main room.

The person who stood in the doorway, leaning on the doorpost, was tall — even taller than the five-foot-ten Anebrin — and wore black, high-quality clothes and a billowing brown trenchcoat. A hood denied any glimpse of the person's face.

"Hello," that person said in a deep baritone. "Is this Response Centre number zero-point-four-three-four-two-nine-four-four-eight-one-nine?"

Doctor who the mini-Reaper screeched in response, wildly gesticulating with its hands and tail.

"That is surprisingly intelligent for an _inferior specimen_." The person fully opened the door and entered the RC's central room. He ignored Doctor who's indignant screech; a wave of stale, malodorous air hit him and he dug a kerchief out of a pocket, pressing it to his nose. "Such stench..."

"Hey, didn't your mother teach you to knock before entering someone else's room?" a very disheveled, pajama-clad Des asked. He entered the main room, rubbing his forehead. "Who are you anyway? What are you doing here?"

"To answer your questions in order, no, as I was Loomed; I am the Librarian; and I am here because a Flower called 'The Marquis de Sod' told me this is to be my base of operations henceforth," the Librarian said, his face twisted into a scowl. He finally found the light switch and flipped it.

The room was flooded in orange light, and Des cursed, his eyes tearing. "Oh, great," he groaned, rubbing his eyes, "y'know what happened to my last partner? No?" A pause. "He went insane. Or rogue. Possibly both." Des blinked and scratched his goatee. "I have bad luck with missions. Well, not terrible luck — didn't get any legendary badfic yet — but that's the only thing that's worse than what they gave me." A pause. "So why don't you waltz back to your TARDIS and go on with whatever Time Lord-y business you were busy with before?"

"I would like nothing better," the Librarian said, sitting down on the nearest chair, which was wooden and old, "but unfortunately that is quite impossible… According to the Technician I met earlier, the 'story' I apparently come from is nigh-impossible to detect" — he frowned — "because it is not published, or some equally strange reason." He huffed. "His intelligence, as well as his sanity, were obviously lacking."

"So you're here to stay?" Des said, rubbing his temples. "Well, it'd be impolite to not at the very least offer you a cup of tea."

He went to the stove, lifted the kettle and peered inside. Shrugging, he filled it with water from the faucet and put it back on the stove, lighting the flame beneath it. He went back to the other room and half-closed the door behind him. "I'll get some clothes on," he said over his shoulder. "Wait a sec, OK?"

Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door, leaving the Librarian to take a tablet computer out of one of the big pockets of his coat, put it on the table, and start looking around. He found the room rather, well, roomy, and the various bookshelves lined against the walls certainly interested him — maybe he could find some clue here…?

He got up, but instead of going to the bookshelves, he went to one of the cupboards and opened it. It contained a large assortment of rifles; most of them looked rather futuristic. He lifted his hand to pick one up, but then the kettle started to whistle and the door to the other room opened.

"Don't touch those," Des said from behind him. The Librarian turned around and saw that Des, now wearing his usual attire — a dark green Polo shirt, black cargo pants, and a large Department of Floaters flashpatch on an armband — was standing behind him. He looked much more focused, the frown from before replaced by an inquisitive expression. "Those guns are from a continuum where guns aren't really safe, and getting a ricochet in here might be dangerous," he said.

"Your behaviour has changed," the Librarian stated, returning to where he sat before and sitting down again.

"Weeell..." Des said, "in this place, you can't really fight fate, so to speak, neh?"

The Librarian just stared at him.

Des shrugged. "Hm, how do I explain… Well, basically, there're two sorts of things in the universe: things you can affect, and things you can't. You being my partner I cannot affect, so why bother trying to change it or feeling bad about it?"

"Preposterous."

"Look, Mr. Know-It-All," Des said, "you don't know how this place works — inasmuch you can call HQ a place, it's very wonky, definition-wise — and I do. So take my word for it instead of staring at me, OK?"

Going back to the stove, he busied himself with the kettle and a china teapot (which might or might not have been in an orbit between Earth and Mars before he got it). After a minute or so, which the Librarian spent tapping on his tablet, he took the teapot to the table, pouring some tea for himself and the Librarian.

"Drink up, it's good for your health," Des said. Following his own advice, he sipped his tea and sighed contentedly. "Nothing like a cup of tea..."

The Librarian raised an eyebrow but drank a bit from his tea, too. He stared at the cup, lifted his gaze to regard Des for a few seconds, and returned it back to his tea. "This tea is exceedingly bitter," he said, "and I think I saw something move in my cup."

"Well..." Des said, getting up and peering above the Time Lord's shoulder into his cup. "Hm, someone didn't quite kill the tea," he said. "Remind me to have a word with my supplier the next time I hop home, willya?"

"'Kill the tea?'" the Librarian asked doubtfully. "While I am not familiar with your inferior habits, I seem to remember that tea is a beverage made from a plant; therefore, it does not need… killing." He put his cup down.

"Well..." Des said, going back to his place and sitting down again, "I'm not from World One. Well, technically I am, but the point is that in my home universe some things are quite different. For example, guns." His belly rumbled and he frowned before getting up and walking toward the stove again. "For some reason, there aren't any."

"What does this have to do with—" the Librarian began to ask before Des continued.

"The tea? It's another difference; it is quite predatory. You have to kill the leaves before roasting them, or you get what you have in your cup."

"I understand," the Librarian said, raising his eyebrow again. He adjusted the handkerchief he was holding near his nose.

Des sniffed, looked at himself, and shrugged. "Yeah, I stink," he said, then added something in Hebrew.

"'Unwashed teenager?' I did not need to know that," the Librarian said, wrinkling his nose behind the kerchief.

Des replied, but whatever he said was drowned out by a strong [BEEEEEP!].

The Librarian scoffed while Des ran to the console and punched a random button, which only served to make the noise louder.

Rolling his eyes, the Librarian tapped something on his tablet, and the noise stopped. He turned to Des and found the teenager staring suspiciously at him.

"How did you do that?" Des asked.

"I didn't. Tablet did. It was a small matter for it to interface with the computer, find the volume meter, and mute the atrocious noise."

"You know that this console is probably more sentient than this Tablet of yours, don't you?"

"Surely you jest."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Indeed, Des' expression was a cross between anger and bewilderment. He took a few deep breaths. "I'm gonna like you..." he muttered under his breath, then brushed his shirt with his hands. "Anyway… that 'atrocious noise', as you've called it, means I — means we — have a mission."

At the Librarian's questioning stare, Des rolled his eyes, but continued anyway. "The PPC basically sends people into badfic — bad fanfiction — to fix the canon… Don't stare at me like that, grab your stuff and you'll see for yourself."

Cracking his knuckles, Des retrieved his bag from his room. Returning to the main room and taking his axe from the table, he tried to put it in its normal place, but noticed that his belt was torn. "Shimatta," he muttered, then shrugged. Going back to the console, he let the axe lean on his leg (a deed that earned him another stare from the Librarian) and tapped a few more buttons, opening a portal. Before the Librarian had any chance to say anything, he stepped through the portal.

**In the benigging there were six tribes of elfs. They was the sun Elves the Wood elfs the Moon Elfs the See Elves the Drow elves and the Wide Elfs. And they were all in war. But hidden deep beneath the mountains of Faerun was a seventh typo of elf…**

"Where are we?" the Librarian asked, looking around. He saw nothing but grey, aside from his so-called partner he found in RC log _e_.

"Pre-fic space," Des said. "Basically, author didn't describe anything. Also… Did you hear that?"

"The booming voice that sounded like it originated from multiple places at once? Of course I heard that. My hearing is superior to yours."

"Yup, that. That's the author. And..." Des removed his glasses for a second, then groaned. "First of all, misspellings. That's a charge. We collect those, note them down, then read them to the Sue before we execute her. We do that to avoid mistakenly killing good — or non-reality-warping — characters." He was scribbling in a worn notebook even as he spoke. "Misspellings belong to the 'mangling the English language' family of charges. I imagine you know what the rest of them are."

"... How do you know the… author" — the Librarian doubtfully stressed the word — "misspelled anything?"

"Oh, right. When we're in a Word World — a story, basically — we can read the Words — the story itself. You have to unfocus your gaze to do that. That's why I take my glasses off; I heard about a Troll agent that hits his head to read the Words."

The Librarian nodded and tried to unfocus his gaze, to let it wander, but he found that he could not. Whenever he tried, he found himself focusing on some small detail — no small feat, considering that there was nothing worth looking at around him at the moment.

"Oh, you can't? Well, nevermind that then. Though, do notice that the author completely fucked up the way elves are divided… first came the Lythari, the Green Elves, and the Avariel — the Winged Elves. Then came the Dark Elves, not yet drow; the Sun Elves; the Moon Elves; and the Aquatic Elves… that's seven already. The author's 'seventh' 'tribe'? The Star Elves? Those are Elves from the hidden kingdom of Sildëyuir, existing on a separate plane..."

"You are telling me that this… author… did not research their subject before writing about it?"

"Yup. That's badfic for you… that's messing with canon, which is a charge. Specifically, messing with the Tel-quessir — this universe's elves; you do know what elves are, I hope? Anyway, messing with their history."

"I am a Time Lord. We do not forget."

Suddenly, the agents found themselves in a Generic Wood; a drow was standing a few metres away from them, pacing to and fro.

**Drizzt Do-Urden was restlessly. The goddess Lolth had send him a message saying that**

**THE DAY OF TH STARS IS COME and, he didn't know what it means. So he was hiding in**

**the wood to try and not be found by anyon.**

Dragging the Librarian behind a bush and crouching, Des motioned the Time Lord to do the same.

"Well, if it ain't Drizzt Do'Urden," he whispered, annoyed. "Or, rather, look." He pointed, and the Librarian turned his gaze to where the human was pointing; a miniature corpse-like humanoid was staring imperiously at its surrounding.

"That's a mini-Slayer," Des continued. "A mini is created whenever an author misspells a name — for every name spelled wrong in _Rings_, a mini-Balrog gets its wings — and this is the mini Drizzt Do-Urden."

"Let me guess," the Librarian whispered back, distaste evident in his voice, "that is a charge?"

"Correct." Des read the Words again, then sputtered. He opened and closed his mouth several times.

The Librarian raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner, but Des didn't even look at him; rather, he headed toward the nearest tree and proceeded to hit his head on its trunk. So the Time Lord, who decided against prying the man from the tree, watched as a large spider descended from the suddenly-appearing ceiling of the forest.

"**I know it was you, Lolth," said, Drizzt, while drawing his swords Twinkle, and Icingdeath and holding them at Lolth. "You can't not hide from me."**

"**But why do you think I am Lolth?" asked the spider, and it turned into… a Drow Elv! Then Drizzt said, "Gasp! But you are dead?"**

"**The ways of the Underdark are dark and mystery," said the Drow Elf. "It is I, your sister who is called Vierna!"**

The Librarian tapped his partner's shoulder, and the human stopped hitting his head for long enough to get a look at the scene — and, judging from his surprised reaction and grammar-related curse — the Words as well.

"Does this make any sense to you?" the Time Lord asked. "One, this Drizzt, whoever he is, exclaims like a badly-written character, and two, something wrong with the way time is flowing."

"Pffah, badfic logic, no sense," Des muttered. "One, the way Drizzt is being written is even stupider than canon — no small feat, by the way, he's one of the worse Canon Stus around; two, those extra commas are probably messing with the way the World interprets the Words; three, we have another mini;" — he pointed at the mini-Slayer that stood near the now-present Drizzt Do'Urden and the other drow — "and four… the author had the gall to kidnap a fucking goddess and transform her into Drizzt's dead sister, who, by the way, tried to kill him multiple times." He pointed at the female drow as he beckoned the mini to come closer.

Drizzt, meanwhile, was slowly catching up, stupidly repeating what he said before, and not!Vierna gave him a cryptic message.

Des muttered something about capital letters, and the Librarian opened his mouth to ask a question, but then another character made her appearance.

"**IT MEANS ME", said the voice as the woman, revelled herself to be a woman. "I am call Marchessa, and I am the Queeness of the Star Elf."**

"Charge," muttered Des as not!Vierna and the Sue bickered. The Librarian stared at the character, which, thanks to the lack of description, looked like a glittery cardboard cutout.

"Why is the character like that?" the Time Lord whispered to Des. "I do not like not knowing."

The human massaged his brow. "No description equals Genericness. Since, surprisingly, the Sue _wasn't_ floridly described, she's like that."

"Sue?"

"Mary Sue. Really badly-written character, tends to serve as wish fulfilment for the author and suck the conflict out of stories. They also have a tendency to warp the canon and be… floridly described."

Of course, the Ironic Overpower heard him, and the fic promptly described the Sue in the purplest way possible, which was also beige at the same time:

**Drizzt locked at Marchessa and saw that she had curves in all the write places. Her hair, was a luscious red with silver highlights and, it ran down her beck like a waterfall of ice.**

Curves of twisting writing appeared on her body; her hair, which was somehow arousing despite being red with silver highlights, turned into a frozen waterfall and started writhing around like it was alive; and her skin suddenly shone more brightly than the sun.

The agents cursed and closed their tearing eyes, which spared them seeing the Sue's **large and pruple with god flecks **eyes and from noticing that she did not wear anything at all.

Drizzt declaring that he was in love with the Sue, however, managed to cause Des to open his eyes. Fortunately, the light somewhat abated — though it was still strong enough for him and the Librarian to cast a long, unnatural shadow — allowing him to witness Vierna's transformation from her canonical appearance to to a busty Sue lookalike, described with the same confusing terms used to describe the Sue herself; then something curved struck his head and he staggered, cursing.

The Librarian, having opened his eyes as well, crouched and picked the curved thing up. It looked like a black, slightly curved line, and the Time Lord got the feeling that it was one of a pair merely by looking at it. He distastefully threw it away.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw that Des, having gotten over his grogginess, was standing behind him.

"What is that?" the Librarian asked, flicking Des' hand off.

Des shrugged and read the Words again. He rolled his eyes. "A parenthesis. Misplaced punctuation usually materialises in the Word World, and my forehead seems to attract them." He watched as Drizzt declared that he loved his sister as well, which earned the addled canon a disgusted stare from the Librarian and an exasperated sigh from Des.

"**O that's' okay," says Vierna" because Lolth has made it so we are not related now. And so you' are free to love me.'**

Scribbling charges in a notebook while dodging errant punctuation requires quite a bit of agility, so the Librarian was rather surprised when the decidedly-not-athletic-looking Des managed to do it, only suffering minor bruises in the process (including a self-inflicted one when he hit his belly with his elbow).

Seeing that the punctuation shower had abated, the Librarian tapped his partner's shoulder, then pointed at the Sue; she was offering Drizzt 'magic powers' and a differently-coloured skin, were he to choose her.

Des dodged the errant comma, then read the Words again. He sputtered. "Hey, Librarian," he said, "point the CAD — wait, never mind that. You don't know." He took a small device, which looked like a cross between a calculator and an old cellphone, from a pocket and showed it to the Librarian. "This is a C-CAD — Combined Character/Canon Analysis Device. Point it at a character and it'll tell you how much out-of-character they are, or, if they're original characters, what their effect on canon is. Fickle tech—"

"Human, I would assume," the Librarian said. "Time Lord tech would function no matter what."

"It tends to explode," Des continued with a sigh, "so handle it with care." Pushing a few buttons, he pointed it at Drizzt, then showed its screen to his partner.

[Drizzt Do'Urden. _Ssri-tel-quessir_ (drow) male. _Forgotten Realms_ canon: major character. 34% OOC and rising. Suggested action: Neuralyzation.]

"He is becoming more and more out of character?" asked the Librarian while another mini-Slayer spawned and a whirling comma nearly struck Des' forehead.

"Yep," Des said. "This is an advanced model, it tells you what to do; in this case, wipe the poor sod's memory." He busied himself with his notebook again, missing the large male deer that appeared in front of the Sue.

The Librarian cleared his throat. When that didn't quite get Des' attention, he disdainfully tapped the human's shoulder again.

"What? Oh, the Sue got 'stabbed through the hart'. How trajeck." Des barely spared the Sue a glance.

"You sound rather bored."

"Consider the alternative." A pause and some frantic dodging. "Ow."

The Librarian had tapped his partner's shoulder again. "This overlong no is a charge, correct? How clichéd."

"Correct. Not to mention the — ow! fukkenay! — flying punctuation!"

"**No!" Drizzt grabbed his other sword Twinkledeath and lunged at Vierna but, she lifted Icing and stopped him.**

The Time Lord saw Des' expression and sighed. "More charges, my unstable _partner_?" the Librarian asked.

"Yeah, Librarian. First of all, author combined Drizzt's two swords into one — remember to grab it once we finish here, we can't let the badfic contaminate the canon — and second, Icing? As a sword?" Des barked a laugh. "Look."

Indeed, Drizzt was wielding one of his swords — it was impossible to tell which — while the Suvian lookalike of his sister had her fist covered in something pink and glossy.

As the replacement and the canon character 'fought' — waved their hands around because of the lacking description — another comma came flying, and surprisingly it did not hit Des; rather, it whirled around like a boomerang and struck the Librarian, who in his turn shot Des a haughty look.

Suddenly, the Sue was back, all aglow and crying something about the Sun Elves' **one true goddess who is called Seldarine** before chanting a spell in German. Drizzt seemed to be invigorated by this, somehow breaking the Vierna-replacement's icing-sword on his knee.

After a few messy sentences about fantasy-world religion and one flying equal sign later, the characters abruptly stopped moving.

The more experienced agent pulled the Librarian aside. "Whew, it's done," he said, wiping his brow. "Now we gotta kill the Sue, neuralyze Drizzt and cause Lolth to leave Vierna's body."

The Librarian gave him a doubting look.

"Watch and learn." Taking one last glance at his notes, the human agent picked his axe up from the ground and marched right into the Sue's line-of-sight.

"who are you" she asks

"I'm Agent Desdendelle of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Marchessa, I hereby charge you with the following: disrespecting the spelling, capitalisation and punctuation of the English language; tense shifts; messing with the Tel-quessir's history and religion; creating minis and spatial distortions; kidnapping a fucking goddess and transforming it into Drizzt's dead sister; being speshul; further messing with Vierna Do'Urden's character, including her relationships with other canon characters; driving Drizzt OOC; having him get friendly messages from Lolth, whom he denounced ages ago; messing with his swords, including turning one into cake icing; dying a trajeck death; causing Drizzt to shout a big no like some bad Darth Vader ripoff; and being a Mary Sue. Any last words, Sue?"

Drizzt laves me" Marchessa says, glowing whit and chantal in, a strange tongue.

Des charged the Sue. "Eulalia!" he screamed, lifting his axe over his head.

"You $hall be redeemed~' the Sue sayd, casting a spell at him!

Des grimaced, his mind getting number; he felt groggier and groggier. His grip on his axe weakened.

"How inferior," someone said. The Sue? No, not the Sue, she couldn't form a two-word sentence without making some sort of mistake. His partner. His oh-so-superior partner. Des shook his head, using the anger the Librarian's statement caused him to feel to bolster his resolve. He managed to shake the enchantment off and surveyed his surroundings.

The Sue was busy gloating over the Librarian's prone form. Des cringed and snuck up on her — an easy task, considering her attention was focused on the Librarian.

An axe came up and went down in a crackling arc, and suddenly the Sue was missing most of her head. Then her body crumpled to the floor.

Des groaned and staggered but caught himself. "Augh, Sues and their spells." He crouched and wiped his axe's blade on the Sue's clothes, then put it aside and leaned to check on the Librarian.

The Time Lord was breathing, but he seemed down for the count.

Des got up and pulled a small, silvery rod out of a pocket. Closing his eyes, he pressed a button.

FLASH.

"Drizzt Do'Urden, you've never met someone called Marchessa, your sister is long dead, and Lolth isn't sending you cryptic messages. You'll shortly walk through a portal, and this will be a weird if ultimately forgettable dream. Capisce? Good."

He opened a portal for the dazed drow and turned to not!Vierna. The drow's face was contorted, and Des figured it was because of the divine essence of Lolth, which was probably eating Vierna's… soul? Wait, wasn't she already dead? Grinning, he opened a portal behind not!Vierna and pushed her through it. "Have fun in the Demonweb Pits!" he shouted before closing the portal.

He opened a portal to Medical, stopped to pick up his axe and Twinkledeath, and picked the Librarian up as well. "Oof, you're a heavy lump," he muttered and dragged his partner back into HQ.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia. _Forgotten Realms_ was created by Ed Greenwood, and Drizzt and family by R.A. Salvatore. Marchessa and her story are mine. Time Lords are the property of the BBC. Desdendelle and the Librarian belong to Desdendelle, and this mission was written by him.

**Desdendelle's A/N**: Well… after eighty or so days, I finished this mission. It is special, because the badfic it is sporking isn't actually a badfic. Rather, it was written by Huinesoron as part of his _Ispace Wars _project. What for, exactly, I don't know, but I must say he did a pretty good job of imitating a rather amusingly-written badfic.

As always, an e-cookie for you guys and girls that catch the reference that is the title, plus another one for catching the stealthier one hidden in the body of the mission.

**Desdendelle's Second A/N**: As mentioned in the original mission, the badfic isn't actually a badfic — it was written by Huinesoron for his _Ispace Wars_ project. Anyway, I edited this mission because the writing was clumsy, and, more importantly, the Librarian was very OOC. All fixed now, though. I'll keep the original in case anybody is interested in it.

This is an edited version of the original mission; I thank EviI Paladin from TvTropes, Huinesoron, Sergio Turbo, Antigone68104 and son_of_heaven176 for betaing the original mission.

I thank DawnFire, Iximaz and Darkotas for betaing the edited mission.

**Huinesoron's Note:** Many thanks to Desdendelle for writing this mission. If you want to read more of his missions, searching _Desdendelle PPC_ on any good search engine should lead you to them.

The Ladies' Academy's plan was to distract Ispace so as to allow one of their Sues to break into Ispace Mountain. Unfortunately (for them), it looks like the Protectors of the Plot Continuum are accidentally running interference for Ispace…


End file.
